


To Drown out the Noise

by Winterborne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Panic Attacks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, brock and pierce were awful to bucky, but what's new, kind of, mostly subtext but there are explicit references in a few sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 05:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterborne/pseuds/Winterborne
Summary: Bucky guesses there are worse ways to get back into his old life than giving a blowjob to a cute blond at a party.A shame the guy hasn't called him back yet.Or, the one where Bucky and Steve are experiencing their own inner demons but still manage to find each other. Cue a quick and heavy moment at a party followed by movie nights and general support and love of the other.





	To Drown out the Noise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TrishArgh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrishArgh/gifts).



> For the MCU KinkBang. My lovely partner was [Frau Argh](http://frau-argh.tumblr.com/), whose art piece can be found at the end. If you enjoy this, please consider giving their blog a look-see. c:

The house was _loud,_ loud all over no matter where he went. Loud and crowded and it almost felt like the walls were moving along with the throng of people inhabiting the spaces between. Bucky can’t help but to fiddle with the plastic cup in his hands. Outside would be quieter. Most definitely quieter. Crisp autumn air still clinging to the slightest warmth before winter came and the only harshness being the occasional street lights so much brighter than the late-year moon, just far enough into the night that most had settled in their own homes and few were out on the streets and Bucky was only sinking further into the feeling that he’d much rather experience that than _this._ But it was a Friday night and Bucky had agreed to come, had been set on coming, and the clock only read 9:35-

Or 9:50, the numbers on his phone correcting the lounge room clock of whoever’s house this was. Huh. To small blessings, he guesses. Bucky takes another mouthful of his drink, a small toast to success, and maybe that’d help his body relax. He hopes it gets him relaxed. And he has to admit to himself, the drinks aren’t half bad, a not-too-sweet taste to them but still strong enough it’ll no doubt get him just that side of tipsy by the end of the night. It’s not just the drinks either, Bucky had been mentally talking himself through how even the company and music are decent. He’d still found himself off to the side, closer to the walls than any people.

He should be enjoying this. Before everything, he would have enjoyed this. The people are friendly and the music is a good beat and not overpowering, but he just can’t get back into the swing of things. He hadn’t been some kind of party animal before, not at all, but he’d certainly always had fun at a good party. Hair done up all neat with wax, so much shorter and tidier than the style he’d ended up with now, casual clothes still smart, always smart and impeccable. Now, Bucky just feels on edge, eyes darting to and fro whenever someone so much as moves too close, too quickly, his heartbeat rising just as fast. He shifts, handing his cup from his right, to his left, and then back again, left arm returning to hang limply at his side.

Maybe alcohol would help, maybe not, but he wants to try at least, see if he can find someone to chat with. It wouldn’t be hard, not really, a quick scan of the room showing how open and relaxed everyone was, talking away in their own groups and it’s then that Bucky has to do a double take. Sharp brown eyes, a too similar jawline, and that smile which promised nothing good. The name _Rumlow_ seared through his mind quicker than any heated blade. Bucky snapped his eyes back again, hoping he didn’t look as frantic as he felt.

He’s still looking, searching, for any familiar face, suit, eyes, when he feels the first bit of tightness in his throat. His panic is nearly enough that he doesn’t even realise it’s happening at first, but he does, and he’s never been so thankful to notice the start of it. Bucky pushes himself to move, needs to find a room somewhere quiet, thinks about just leaving the house altogether but that wouldn’t be a good idea - too vulnerable, too far away from everyone if that person is actually here, in the same house as him, just waiting-

He’s barged himself into a room before he can really think about it, the noise dulling behind a closed door being the only thing he can focus on. He’s breathing hard, throat protesting against it as his heart feels determined to stamp its shape into his ribcage. The noise is muffled in here, colours going as well with no artificial light around, and Bucky’s holding onto the thought that if he keeps watch on the one entrance, no one could take him by surprise. And Bucky laughs.

He laughs until his face feels like breaking and his stomach aches. His eyes burn and his throat constricts like there’s a lump far too great for him to breathe, but he laughs. There’s no Alexander, no Brock coming for him here. Bucky knows this, and so he laughs.

He feels closer to sobbing than laughing by the time the sound dies down. No Alexander, no Brock, and if he tries enough, no terrible lump in his throat. It’s easier to breathe than a minute ago, not as easy as it should be, but his chest isn’t protesting against every shuddering inhale and then exhale now.

“Fuck,” the curse feels as wavering as the breath Bucky’s using for it and with it and just like that, the dam bursts. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity fucking fuck,” his hands are clenched into fists as he grits it all out, quietly seething, and turns, needing to move, pace, anything - _fuck_ \- and then there’s a young man right there. Bucky freezes, the sudden itch for flight or fight coming back underneath his skin, but the boy doesn’t doesn’t move, not a muscle, just like Bucky. And they only stare at each other for a moment.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice is steadier than he expected and the other person relaxes at that, body uncurling from where’d he’s sat cornered down against a bed and a wall. The kid’s blonde, that’s the first thing Bucky notices, hair short and parted to the left of his face. He’s still staring back at him, eyes now sharper granted, less wide eyed and more calculating and so, so blue. And dear Lord, even when the guy’s not hunched in on himself, he’s _tiny_ , frail looking neck and frail looking chest, arms small and slender leading down to hands too big for his body, clutching at something blue- _‘what is that? Maybe an inhaler? Looks like an inhaler.’_

“Hi,” is all the guy says in return, voice deeper than Bucky expected. There’s silence again and they go back to not moving, but Bucky catches the boy’s jaw working around something until the guy says, “Are you… are you okay?”

The question feels heavy against Bucky, words obviously picked carefully and he’s already looking for any presumption, or accusation or God forbid, pity, but he’s suddenly all too aware that yes, he’s breathing far too rapidly. A question from honest worry, he guesses.

“Yeah. Just,” and Bucky pauses, finding the right words as he watches the guy relax more at the sound of his voice, “just a rough day, you know?” and he manages to add a smile, a little nod at the other, and the young man holding what is looking to be an inhaler actually laughs at that.

“Yeah,” the other man looks down for a moment, and Bucky notices how long his eyelashes are, so much darker than the blonde of his hair, “I know what you mean,” and he gives his own nod at him, the corners of his mouth twitching up slightly. With that, Bucky feels the weight in the air give way and it’s like he can breathe easy again. The guy’s spreading out some, back leaning against the bed behind him and legs kicked out with bent knees. He looks comfortable, Bucky thinks, and doesn’t fight the impulse to join him. A few steps and he’s setting down over by the other end of the bed frame. This much closer and with a glance over to the mystery man, Bucky can see a slight sheen of sweat under his bangs and no colour in his cheeks, any paler and he’d worry if the guy’s lips were about to turn blue.

There’s silence for a moment, no words passing between them but none of the awkwardness there to fill the absence like before. Bucky leaves it for a few more, a comfort in the soft mattress behind him, sounds and colours muffled by the walls and door, and the body several feet away, also trying to simply relax and get a hold. He’s tired, feels the lethargy that always follows such an intense attack, and it weighs heavy on his bones and eyelids both. It comes as a surprise then, when he finds it doesn’t put a damper on his curiosity.

“You here by yourself?” he asks and he watches still as the boy doesn’t open his eyes, but instead his brows scrunch up a bit in response.

“Uh, I guess,” he makes a noise in the back of his throat before continuing. “I came here with a friend but I haven’t seen her for a while.” The silence is back again and he’s opened his eyes now, glaring at something across from him like it’s shouted a personal insult at the guy as he stuffs his inhaler in his jacket pocket. It’s almost funny, seeing that expression on such a tiny person, and Bucky has to suppress a laugh at him. But then the expression is suddenly aimed at him instead, and all the mirth is struck from Bucky with it. “What about you?” the question doesn’t sound angry, despite the determination and fire in this man’s eyes.

“Just acquaintances,” Bucky replies, taking his eyes away from the stranger for the first time, face hot from embarrassment. Chancing a glance back, he’s still being stuck with that stare.

“You wanna go out there and have some fun with me?” his voice is steady, almost deathly serious, until it breaks, “I mean, that is, only if you want to, of course-” He looks just about as embarrassed as Bucky feels.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, meeting his eyes before the guy could ramble anymore, “yeah, that sounds good,” and those blues eyes blink one, twice, and then he’s got a small smile on his face.

“Steve,” he reaches out a hand and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to shake it.

“Bucky,” he smiles back at Steve, grip firm and taking the moment to push himself up onto his feet, pulling the smaller man up with him. Bucky almost misses the sound of surprise Steve makes at that but he doesn’t look angry, so Bucky smiles back. “We gonna show ‘em how to party?” Bucky mock jeers and Steve laughs again, head honest to God thrown back with it, and Bucky wonders if his eyes would twinkle like in all that cliche novels he reads if they were open. Steve lets out another, smaller chuckle before his face settles again.

They’re barely out the door when the light radiating from Steve vanishes. The music and chattering is back and Steve looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his body, head down when he’s not glancing back at Bucky. So Bucky does all that he can think to do, and leads Steve to get a drink, the same slightly fruit one he’d been drinking before, then he’s leading them through the rooms. It doesn’t take long to find a less lively place in the kitchen. The music’s just about as loud, but there’s not too many people, and they’re all quietly chattering away in their own small group, and so Bucky sits.

Steve still looks uncomfortable, fidgeting in place. He smiles back though when Bucky shoots a grin his way and finally takes the seat by his side.

“You don’t do this much?” Bucky says, leaning back in his chair, surprised at how quickly and easily it’s now coming to him. Steve makes a face before replying.

“Not with parties this big. With a few close friends at their apartment, of course,” and he nods like it’s obvious, of course, he _can_ party, “just not this big.” He looks down at that and Bucky’s wondering for a second if he should change the subject before Steve huffs and says, “A friend mentioned it might be good, he said it’s all part of the college experience. So my friend, Nat, dragged me along.” Bucky’s mood springs up at that despite how annoyed Steve seems.

“College? What’re you studying?” He couldn’t miss how Steve perked up at that even if he tried.

“Art,” he says but then adds, “Fine art.” It only takes a second of Bucky’s silence and a small nod from him and Steve doesn’t stop again. “I study the history and theory behind art, but it’s mostly creating your own pieces.”

“So, you draw?” Steve makes a face, no scrunched up brow or nose in a show of anger, only concentration for a moment as he thought.

“Kind of. There’s drawing involved, of course, but most of the work goes into painting,” Steve finally seems to be relaxing as he talks on and so Bucky only nods, making a small hum for him to continue. “It’s nothing fancy,” he almost rushes to say, tips of his cheeks finally filling with colour, “but I like it.” Bucky can’t help the smile that comes to his face.

“You got any photos of them?” he asks and Steve near glows at that. His hand is fumbling for his pocket before he can even reply, jerking his phone out.

“Yeah, I’ve, uh,” and Steve stumbles now, not moving to unlock the phone, “I’ve got a few on here, if you really want to see.”

“Of course I do.” And now? Steve’s positively beaming now. That smile of his is still cheek to cheek as he taps at his phone, slender fingers quick and, Bucky can’t help but notice, almost graceful in the simple movements. Just as quickly, he’s passing the screen over to him, but isn’t rough with it, still somehow gentle and precise despite how quick those hands move and then Steve’s hand is retracting. Bucky realises he’s been staring, is quick to move his staring to where he _should_ be looking instead and-

 _"Woah,"_ Bucky says, near gasps, when the a landscape of deep blue and lowly saturated reds springs out to him. The centre ends in a path, slowly beaten down until it’s completely indiscernible from the brushes of dark grey background and the pale green of overgrown bushes. The actual focal point, where Bucky’s eyes are immediately drawn to, is the figure at the start of the path, encompassing the middle and bottom right, feet in a paused motion of walking down the warped stone. The colours are similar to a point, except for the tuft of light blond atop their head and to the side of that, a backpack spanning the figure’s entire back highlighted with deep purples and brighter strokes of blue. Whatever belongings Steve imagined this character as packing, it was weighing their spine into a low stoop, enough so that it was almost parallel to the ground he was walking.

Bucky realises he hasn’t said anything yet when he’s suddenly taken from the picture by Steve fidgeting again. The guy’s looking down, from the ground to his hands that won’t stay put, and back again. Bucky smiles at the painting, smiles up at Steve, and the words just fall out again. “This is brilliant,” he says in a breath and when Steve looks up, he grins even more and Steve does the same back at him.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Steve’s still smiling despite the words, voice only soft. “I still feel like better imagery could have been used for the background and the pose could be more extreme. But thanks, “ Steve’s meeting Bucky’s gaze again, _finally,_ Bucky finds himself thinking, before Steve says again, “thanks a lot.”

“Certainly better than anything I can draw,” Bucky says, grin still in place. Steve’s expression pinches at that.

“Hey, don’t put yourself down like that.” He sounds almost angry, for a second there’s an edge to his voice before it disappears and the easy going look is back again. “I bet you can draw just fine.”

The laugh that comes out of Bucky must surprise the guy, if his widening blues are anything to go by.

“Wait, seriously.” Bucky’s doing the barest to restrain his giggles, downright _giggles,_ as the idea comes to him and he takes another sip from his cub as he grabs a spare scrap of brown paper on the kitchen counter. A flimsy takeaway bag or maybe something other from before the party. Bucky doesn’t give much thought to what it had been when now it was serving a much better purpose. “Please say you have a pen on you?”

Steve stares at him for only a moment, confusion written in those eyes of his, before it seems to click and he’s rifling through another jacket pocket, opposite the inhaler one. He reaches out with a pencil in hand a moment later, quickly handing it over to Bucky’s waiting one. Bucky sets the pencil against paper, completely still while he tries to rack his brain for something, anything, to draw before the other night’s movie marathon comes to mind. He scribbles it out roughly, haphazard lines, guessing with just about every detail and even the anatomy he’s sure he knows still looks funny. It takes only a few minutes before he’s sliding the paper over to Steve. And Steve looks like he’s battling to keep any noise down when he sees it.

“Nice cow.” He can’t escape the laugh that comes with that, and Bucky fakes an offended gasp.

“That’s not even close.” Bucky has a hand to his chest, dramatic posture to match the mock hurt. Steve laughs even harder at that.

“I know, I know,” Bucky’s says and he’s almost scared the man is going to start wheezing before he manages to reign it in long enough to speak again, “Looks like a dog, if the ears are anything to go by.” He says it with a glint in his eyes and Bucky doesn’t need to fake the split second of surprise on his face.

“You smart-mouthed little shit!” and they both fall back into their laughter.

The rest of an hour goes around the same. Bucky learns Steve doesn’t live far, only a few blocks down in his own apartment. When Steve asks, Bucky tells him that he spent a year studying engineering at the same college. Steve doesn’t ask if he dropped out or failed or what and he’s grateful for that. What he does ask is if Bucky goes to parties often, and there’s laughing when Bucky smacks on the Brooklyn accent and says, _‘come here often?’_ with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle, before he actually tells Steve that, no, not much anymore at least. Steve jokes about if he used to be a party boy in college and Bucky doesn’t want to say anything to argue it. He surprises himself soon enough, actually goes off to dance a few times when his body feels lax enough and with Steve’s encouragements behind him. He doesn’t spend long any of those times though, soon returning to Steve, a slight but sharp pang of guilt when the first return is accompanied by a surprised look from Steve.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back here,” he says it with a lopsided grin but his brows are scrunched up at the side, confusion or caution, Bucky can’t tell which. And so he doesn’t make anything of it, not outwardly anyway, coming right back to Steve after every song that catches his feet in its beat, Steve who doesn’t look for conversation from anyone else, no eyes wandering for the woman he’d come with.

It takes a full twenty-ish minutes, roughly five songs, for Bucky to notice that last detail. He doesn’t say anything, can’t think of anything _bad_ that Steve may have to say about him bringing it up, but the thought of it twists in his gut when he does consider it. He doesn’t say anything about this friend Nat and neither does Steve. It takes another few songs and Bucky manages to drag Steve with him when he catches him nodding his head when a certain track catches his ear. He’d been surprised for a moment when the sight had him realising he hadn’t noticed the hearing aids until now. With a jokingly coy smile, threatening to turn to a pout, Steve doesn’t take much convincing and they’re dancing in the minute. Or more like shuffling in one place, in Steve’s case. He looks uncomfortable for a second, eyeing a way out, until Bucky has him smiling and laughing with him. They dance for one song until Steve retreats back to his spot and Bucky doesn’t bug him about it.

Bucky keeps looking back when he’s not with Steve, offering a smile and getting one back. A smile from cheek to cheek, healthy looking if not slightly crooked teeth on show, or smaller, more secretive ones that could be mistaken for a simple glance by anyone else. The night’s party is nowhere near to its end, but Bucky starts to feel it in his bones and heart soon enough, less time spent out there and more time in with Steve more and more until he’s only sitting with him, comfortable and getting his breath back in their silence. The dancing’s still fun, he still loves it, but he doesn’t have the same intense pull to keep going. It’s different to how it used to be, but still so similar, and Bucky’s content with the idea that that’s how things may just be for him now. The way Steve just about huddles into him when he leans on the guy while they relax certainly is a bonus he didn’t have before.

They’re like that, with Bucky’s arm draped over Steve’s shoulder, when he feels a tug from him. Steve’s looking up at him from under his lashes and he must’ve been drinking while Bucky had been off dancing because his cheeks won’t seem to quit with the pink. He’s still tugging even with Bucky’s head turned towards him, hands wrapped in the side of his shirt, leaning up onto the balls of his feet. So Bucky does the same and meets him halfway to hear Steve’s voice, quieter than he’s been hearing it all night.

“What do you do?” Steve asks simply and when Bucky’s only answer is a confused pull of his face, eyebrows arched, he looks away quickly, eyes narrowed at nothing, before he’s turning back to Bucky, “You know that I paint and that I go to small get-togethers rather than this kinda thing, but what about you?”

“Oh,” he breathes out and his mind comes to a blank, “I don’t really do much of anything.” Steve shifts his weight at that, like he might pull away, and Bucky goes through what he does in his week. There’s the therapy sessions and the bits in between, that’s the first thing he can think of. The nightmares and attempts at distraction until he can talk to that therapist again. Trying to find anything that’d occupy him enough to escape- “I usually work out when I’m not busy.” He blurts it out, the first thing he thinks actually acceptable of saying, “I used to do it a lot more seriously, but I guess I just want to keep the muscle I gained back then. Actually have a playlist I put on for it, but it’s mostly songs from movies.”

Bucky can both see and feel Steve settling back in again before he hears his reply.

“The working out bit I could have guessed,” and Bucky doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but he swears he can _feel_ the gaze raking over the cloth of Bucky’s flank Steve has his hand smoothed over. “Original soundtracks though? I, huh,” Steve chuckles slightly and his voice is light, “that’s kind of nerdy of you.” He can feel the tone deep in his gut, like it’s vibrating through him for a second, and he wants to push back.

“Sci-fi mostly, my favourites are the ones from a good book or comic,” Steve’s pressing his entire side against him, flush with him but Bucky doesn’t feel anymore grabbing from those hands, finds that he sort of wants to feel it, “There was one made into a game. Not usually my thing, but had to give it a go, it was so good.” Bucky can only bring himself to break his eyes from Steve for a moment, and that moment is only to look around the room, far too full despite thinking it was perfectly non-crowded earlier. His eyes snap to a door, one leading further away from the core of the party and into another corridor, and when he inevitably comes back to Steve, Steve’s own eyes fly back from looking at the exact same direction. “Bet I could bench press more than double of you,” and Bucky gives Steve a one-sided smirk, hooded eyes hopefully looking less ridiculous than he felt trying the move.

When Steve simply copies the expression, tongue darting out quickly to pass over his lips, Bucky wraps a loose hand around Steve’s arm, tangled more in the fabric that around the arm itself. Steve’s entire body moves with him and Bucky’s grip tightens as he leads Steve away.

The corridor is deserted, although Bucky can still hear the beat of the music and, to a lesser extent, an occasional loud shout or laughter. It’s enough that he feels more confident, more comfortable, when he lets go of Steve and moves to shuck off his own jacket. He pauses slightly, feeling every small way the leather wraps around his left arm, but only for a second before he looks over at Steve, cheeks gone from the pink to a bright red.

“I want to show off some as well,” Bucky smirks at him and feels the jacket drop from his body, from the metal that is his left arm. His skin notices the chill immediately regardless of how well heated the house actually is. All except the cybernetics that make up his arm, there’s simply the peculiar input of data regarding temperature, pressure, and all sorts without any of the actual sensations that took him so long to get used to at first. Steve’s eyes fall on that arm, cheeks still flushed, and only stay there for a moment before he’s raking them over the rest of Bucky, eyes just as intense. Bucky notices how heavily his chest is rising and falling and has to fight the urge to pull him closer. Except Steve seems to be having the same battle when he reaches his hand out, stilling.

“Can I?” Steve’s peering at him with those blue eyes of his, hand out for Bucky, to touch him, and he’s asking if that’s okay. Waiting for a confirmation or rejection and Bucky knows exactly which of those he wants.

“Yeah,” he says it quietly, softly, and he doesn’t know if he’s doing it for Steve or himself but he’s just happy that Steve takes it as the invitation it is. His hands are cold, fingers kneading slightly into the muscle of Bucky’s right arm. Goosebumps raise over the skin and he flexes, feels Steve’s fingers work and watches the intent look on his face as he does so. Steve’s eyes follow the movements of his fingers and he only takes his attention from that when he glances to Bucky’s other arm and then meets his eyes again, fingers stilling. Bucky doesn’t wait, holds his other arm up to Steve, welcoming the hand that meets it in return. Steve has his other hand still on Bucky’s flesh one, fingers curled, cradling, as his other smooths over the metal plates. Bucky hopes the cybernetics inside aren’t running too hot.

“What’s this made out of?” Steve asks, peering from under his lashes.

“I, uh,” Bucky trips, holds Steve’s gaze and staring back before finding himself again. “It’s a titanium alloy. Got something to do with connected nerves and tendons, but I’m not sure. I didn’t really,” he pauses, shrugs as much as he can without knocking away Steve’s hands, “didn’t really have the chance to ask much.”

The pressure sensors tell him how Steve is running his fingers over the plates, tracing the edges where one ends and the other begins, and he feels Steve’s other hand pressing up his flesh arm, feeling out his bicep until he’s at the crease of muscle where his shoulder starts. Bucky can see him eyeing how that hand tangles in his sleeve to really feel the skin underneath and he swears the look is intense enough that he can feel it alongside Steve’s fingers.

“Beautiful,” Steve whispers it and Bucky wonders for a second what he’d look like in one of Steve’s painting before he’s reaching a hand of his own up to his cheek. The touch of his palm is tentative at first, barely there, but Steve meets his eyes again and presses into it and all Bucky can think to do with that is pull him closer. Bucky surprises himself at first, had wondered if he’d forgotten how to do this as well, but his body falls into it even better than he remembers. It’s chaste and simple enough, a mere press of lips, the only thing deepening it being Bucky tilting his face slightly before he’s pulling back again. Steve’s hands are still curled into Bucky’s shirt, he can feel that much, and what he sees is Steve’s face, lax and his eyes, closed. He watches them open up again, slowly, as if he’s just waking up, and has only a moment to look at Steve’s blown out pupils before the guy’s gripping him with those artist’s hands of his and pulling him in.

In his defence, Bucky only startles for a moment before he’s kissing back. Steve’s hands hurry to anchor themselves over his shoulders, pulling Bucky down further into him, their noses bumping awkwardly before they find themselves again and Bucky’s half letting himself melt into the sensation of Steve’s chapped lips. Steve’s just about wrapping himself up and around his neck with his arms to get closer, grabbing at him to get him to his height, and Bucky wonders for a second if he’s having to balance on his tiptoes to do so before that thought has him pawing at Steve himself.

His flesh hand stays cupped against Steve’s cheek, only moving to feel out the cut of his jaw as his other weaves around Steve’s back. He’s getting used to how his metal hand fits so well into the small of Steve’s back when he feels the first swipe of a tongue. The wet slide of it has him tense, suddenly aware of where exactly they are and just how _public,_ except, when Bucky’s hand tightens in a grip on his back, Steve moans, quiet but nonetheless an actual, drawn out moan. The sounds of the party, of the chatter, shrink away again and all Bucky wants to hear is that noise from Steve’s throat.

Bucky’s hands fumble only slightly, instincts and want pushing through any anxiety against letting himself explore Steve’s own body until his hands are cupped against his thighs _(small but solid, small and so very there)_ and pulling them up. Steve comes willingly, arms tugging their mouths even closer and licking until Bucky’s mouth by the time Bucky has him settled, thighs spread around his middle supported by a strong grip. It’s slightly awkward, shuffling forward with two armfuls of Steve until there’s the sudden, rough press of a wall to help keep them up, but he’s glad he managed it when Steve groans again at the manhandling.

Between them, there’s heavy pants and wet sounds. Steve’s putting his all into it, Bucky swears he is, pouring every fibre into the kiss as he runs his tongue along Bucky’s own before sucking at the muscle with enough vigor it’s as if it’s a completely different organ of his. He feels one of Steve’s legs moving, rubbing against his flank and then they’re both wrapping around his middle, ankles pressed into the small of Bucky’s back for better leverage as he moves his hips against him and-

Oh.

Oh, Jesus Christ, Steve’s _hard._

Bucky can feel him through their layers of clothes, hard and insistent where he’s pressed against Bucky’s stomach. He breaks away from the kiss, a groan of his own bubbling up and out of him, presses his face into the side of Steve’s hair, hips suddenly rolling up the faintest bit to join Steve’s own small rhythm. There’s quick kisses being run over Bucky’s neck, open mouthed and wet and most definitely more tongue than lips. Bucky relaxes into it, movements turning from rough to languid as he turns his attention back towards the chattering beyond the corridor and the light streaming from under the door they’d left by before his eyes turn to another, different door further in the hall, no light or sound as far as he could tell.

Moving, once again, has its obstacles. Steve’s sucking at the flesh where neck meets shoulder as if it’s the last chance he’ll get and Bucky doesn’t help the issue when he nips at Steve’s earlobe, half in retaliation, half just because he wants to. Another rough push against a wall, and he has Steve pinned up right by the door, keeping him balanced with one hand as his other searches for the door knob.

They stumble inside as soon as Bucky gets the door open, finding each other’s mouths again and sharing a few more open mouthed, deep kisses before Bucky’s letting Steve down. Steve doesn’t try to stop him, but follows his mouth a couple more times once on his feet, not as deep but tongue smoothing against Bucky’s own nonetheless.

It’s heated and even slightly messy until Bucky’s able to slow him down to a stop with easing lips and hands massaging along Steve’s shoulders. Apart, he can see the slither of blue around Steve’s dilated pupils and the spit shine on his lips, chest moving up and down heavily with every hot pant between them. Below that, Bucky can see how hard he is, denim stretched thin over the bulge straining to the side.

It only takes a few seconds for Bucky to sink to his knees, perfectly eye level for what he wants. He looks up again, up past Steve’s hips and his thin shirt and his thin chest, to see those blue eyes, and they’re gazing right back at him.

Steve takes a step forward, closing the distance between them once again, and reaches out his hands, stopping short of their place on Bucky. Bucky’s smiles up at him, licks his top lip a moment as he does, and one of Steve’s hands tentatively smooths over his hair. Steve’s worrying his own lip, eyes searching and anxious for a reaction. Bucky’s smile widens.

“It’s been a while for me too, you know,” Bucky says, taking Steve’s hands in his own, leading them to firmly press against his head. When he leaves them there, they don’t move away and instead there’s the light massage of fingertips against his scalp as he undoes Steve’s jeans. Steve doesn’t pull away, only keeps rubbing through the strands of his hair, gentle, so Bucky lets his gaze drift back down, eyeing the tented briefs in front of him. It’s a comforting thing, how Steve is just as nervous about messing this up as he is, comforting and somehow so appealing at the same time. His fingers itch to pull down the material, but, God, he wasn’t about to ruin his gentlemanly reputation so soon after getting back to this.

It’s a quick lick, a swipe of his tongue more than anything else, along the tip of Steve’s clothed cock. Enough to tease. Except Steve almost buckles on his feet, fingers twining into his hair as the moan he gives sounds almost like Bucky’d ripped it from him.

“Yeah, _shit, yeah,_ a long while,” Steve gasps out and when Bucky looks up at him, he has his head tilted up so much so he can’t see his face anymore, only the strong movements of his jaw and adam’s apple.

He nuzzles his face into Steve’s crotch, mouthing at the outline of his dick with his eyes skyward the entire time, watching him. He presses his mouth to the base of it, a sloppy, open mouthed kiss, before carefully nipping at the fabric, pulling it away an inch before letting it fall back. Bucky can see Steve’s jaw moving the entire time, can imagine that pretty, pink mouth working around silent words and moans, and it isn’t until the fabric at his cock’s head is soaked through that he finally looks down and Bucky can catch his eyes.

His eyes have those same dilated pupils from before, except now they’re hooded, eyelashes fluttering every time Bucky must press over an especially sensitive part. His blush has spread, from his cheeks to his neck, disappearing below his collar, and, God, does Bucky want to find out how far that goes.

He stops his ogling, though. He has a much more pressing issue to deal with at the moment. Eyes meeting again, Bucky brings his hands up, fingers hooking into the elastic band but not pulling it down, not quite yet. He stills, watches Steve, waiting, until Steve gives a husky, _“yeah, please, yes.”_

With one smooth motion, Bucky pulls the underwear down, and Steve’s cock bobs free with it. Bucky keeps his eyes focused on Steve’s face just long enough to both hear _and_ see the gasp he inhales, but after that he’s right back to Steve’s cock. And, Jesus, Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen a cuter cock.

Steve’s length is nothing to write home about, smaller than average, but it’s thick. Thick enough to make Bucky’s mouth water slightly. Beyond that, it’s a pretty pink colour, foreskin pulled back naturally by his erection, and the slit of his cock is leaking and ruddy. Bucky presses forward, a chaste, closed mouthed kiss to the head, and Steve squeaks. He cradles Steve with his palm, holds his cock still as he licks a stripe across a vein running up it, takes in the moan he hears above him. When he pulls away, he gets a glimpse of Steve’s balls twitching, small and pink and round.

_‘Cute.’_

Bucky ducks back in, pressing his tongue against the blunt head of Steve’s dick and tasting the sweet, sweet bitterness of his pre-come, dipping the tip of his tongue into the slit for more of it. With the constant low stream of moans and gasps coming out of him, Bucky can just imagine Steve’s face, relaxed and mouth hanging open. Steve’s hands tangle further into his hair, combing through the strands before he starts tugging gently. It’s all the encourage Bucky needs.

Bucky engulfs the head of his cock in his mouth, lips sealed just under the glans. The smell of Steve, musky but not overpoweringly so, is so much stronger here, and it makes him want to take him down to the hilt as much as he wants to savour this and go slow. It’s not too much of an internal struggle to choose when he argues with himself that yes, he really is out of practice, so to go slow and _not_ accidentally choke on this cute guy’s dick is the plan for tonight.

He works his tongue up and down, twitching it up against his slit again as he gently sucks and moves his lips further and further down by centimetres at a time. He must be about half way, only having had to remind himself about his teeth a few times, when Steve starts to swear and gasp out Bucky’s name like a prayer. Despite recalling everything Brock had taught him so clearly, he didn’t recall ever enjoying it like he was now.

“Bucky, oh, fuck, Bucky, yeah, please,” Steve isn’t loud, not screaming out for the world and everyone else in the house to hear, but it’s loud enough for Bucky to clearly make out every word, and with that mantra, Bucky takes in the last few inches and feels Steve nudge against the back of his throat. Bucky stays still, getting used to that feeling again, and all he can hear from Steve now is his harsh panting in his ears.

He can’t help but look up again, wanting to see Steve in every stage of debauchery as possible, and he’s met with the same eyes and same blush and same astonished expression. And, yeah, Bucky really is coming to enjoy that face of his.

One last glance, and Bucky closes his eyes as he pulls himself off halfway and sinks himself back down. He does it again, and again, and again, until Steve’s voice is stuttering and his fingers are twisting in his hair and he can feel his hips giving small, aborted thrusts. Bucky squeezes his eyes tighter and thinks, reminds himself of the lessons Brock had given him, and yeah, he thinks he can do that. Stilling when he’s once again halfway off Steve’s dick, he pulls at the man’s jeans, encouraging him in his thrusts forwards until he guesses Steve gets the gist of what Bucky is asking. He doesn’t look up to meet his eyes and ask him properly, but the steadily growing rhythm of his hips are all that Bucky needs.

The first few thrusts go smoothly, a gentle pace as Steve takes his pleasure, but it’s when the hands in his hair begin yanking at the roots that Bucky feels his stomach roll uncomfortably and throat ache. He pushes it down, tries to focus on Steve’s groans and the name he’s calling. And when that fails, he focuses on what he’d been taught. Teeth tucked behind lips, suck hard enough for his cheeks to hollow out, keep his tongue working especially around the head and frenulum, hair long and loose for any hands interested, the tighter his lips and the harder he works, the sooner he’ll get closer, dear God, he hopes Brock is close-

He isn’t sure how long quickly he started crying, but when the dick in his mouth is hastily ripped away, there’s more tears at the idea that he’s failed. He flinches, corrects that mistake, and waits as stock still as he can, waits with his head down and body trembling, waits for some kind of punishme-

A tentative touch against his cheek pulls Bucky from his head, and when his eyes snap open there’s only Steve looking back at him. Steve’s the only person in front of him, kneeling down on the ground with him, and it takes Bucky a moment more to process the sounds his lips are working around.

“-sy, come on, breathe with me here,” his voice is soft, gone any of the roughness from before, and when he starts to count, Bucky breathes with him. Both the inhale and the exhale are shaky things, wobbling in his body, but just by the first one, he starts to feel somewhat better.

Steve’s rubbing his fingers against his cheek in time with their breathing, brow pinched and his free hand clenching and unclenching in the fabric of his sleeve. He keeps counting, keeps breathing his careful breaths, until Bucky lays a hand over the one holding his cheek. Bucky’s eyes flitter to and from Steve’s eyes, wanting to keep looking at him but not sure if he can. Steve’s cock, half soft now, is still hanging awkwardly out from his briefs, and Bucky wants to laugh.

He leans forward, head slowly resting into the space between Steve’s neck and shoulder, and rests his weight there. There’s Steve’s hands again, in his hair but gentle now, stroking and caring through the strands. Bucky thinks to himself that he could fall asleep to that.

He doesn’t laugh in the end, not really, but a few chortles and snorts do make their way out of his mouth.

When he chances a look down and sees that Steve is still half hard, he bites his lip alongside the spike of arousal and shame. Steve’s still petting through his hair, silent as he is, and Bucky has to at least see if he can make this work.

“Can I,” he clears his throat, the bit of roughness there quickly washed away, “Can I finish you off?” Steve’s hands stop moving halfway through one of his strokes and Bucky’s about to repeat himself before Steve pulls back, an incredulous look on his face.

“What?” He looks almost angry and Bucky feels like laughing again.

“Please,” he says instead, steadying his eyes on Steve and setting his jaw in the most confident show he can, “I really want to, yeah? I’m fine now and I…” Bucky pauses a moment, eyes faltering before coming back. “I really like you.”

Steve eyes him, wary and brows twitching every now and again. Steve doesn’t move this time, so Bucky takes the moment instead.

He gasps again when Bucky’s hand takes ahold of him, rubbing lightly at the skin and feeling his cock react so quickly and start to fatten up once again. One of Steve’s hands comes down to his forearm, no force in it but simply laying on the skin. Bucky smiles at him and leans forward.

“Please,” he says, face close enough until he can lay a kiss on Steve’s lips. “It was the hair, just don’t pull on my hair.” When Steve inches in at the same time as Bucky the second time, their kiss is longer before Bucky can break himself away and whisper, “God, I want you so bad.”

The third is heated and slightly messy, trying to deepen their mouths more quickly than they physically can, bumping noses and teeth, and Bucky loves it. Bucky’s encouraging Steve to get back up, pulling at the collar of his jacket just hard enough that he can feel it but not actually move the guy without him wanting to.

“Come on, just like before,” another kiss, and Steve’s letting Bucky guide him back up.

When he’s back on two feet, Steve’s panting again and plants his hands on the sink behind him before looking back down at Bucky. Bucky inches closer, looking him in the eyes as he breathes over his erect dick before going back down on him. It only takes him a moment to work back up to the rhythm he had before, and it takes Steve even shorter to go back to the same noises he’d been making as well.

Steve has expressive eyes, Bucky decides that as he watches him throughout, and when he finds a particularly good spot to brush his teeth against, Steve almost jumps from his skin and moans towards heaven. Bucky only smiles around Steve’s cock and Steve must feel it because he laughs low in his stomach.

By the time he’s making high, keening noises, Steve’s hands are fidgeting on the corner of the sink. A second later, one of them reaches out, this time taking a hold of Bucky’s hand and guiding it back. When it’s rested to cup the meat of Steve’s ass, Bucky can only scramble his other hand to do the same in response. Steve’s perkier than he expected, a bony body with a nice, round ass. Small but enough muscle to grab and grope at. Bucky doesn’t waste his time in that regard.

The small, tentative thrusts of his hips are back again, except this time they don’t know where to go; Steve’s constantly changing from rocking back into the warmth of Bucky’s mouth to back into Bucky’s exploring fingers. Bucky’s not sure how he’d never realised giving a blowjob could be this good before, except Steve gasps out again and, _holy shit, better and better._

“Finger me, please.” Bucky’s face scrunches up despite how he keeps his mouth working and Steve must understand what he’s thinking because he continues, “Just one finger, please, we don’t need anything for that, just one,” and Steve almost starts babbling until Bucky’s hand runs along his crack and brushes just the barest hint over his hole. Then, he’s gasping and moaning out again.

Bucky keeps rubbing over the muscle as he works up and down Steve’s length, delighting in how easily Steve’s small hips fit into his hands while he teases him. He doesn’t push hard enough to penetrate, just enough pressure to make sure Steve feels it, feels the pads of his fingers graze and dip at his entrance before pulling away. Bucky’s quickly learning how stubborn this guy can be however.

Barely a few more seconds go by before Steve’s protesting again, loudly and crudely.

“For Christ’s sake, fucking do it,” he’d sound outright angered if it weren’t for the moaning, “fuck me open with your fingers, please, I’ll be so tight, so good-” Steve chokes on his words when the pressure completely disappears, Bucky’s fingers joining the dick in his mouth instead. Steve stares down, eyes clearly focused on the way Bucky’s moving his mouth and tongue over his own fingers, wet and sloppy, before he pulls his hand free and trails the wet digits back to their position on Steve’s ass. With that, Steve’s back to a quiet babble of, _‘please’._

Bucky stops bobbing his head, only absentmindedly twirling his tongue over his cock, while he massages at Steve’s hole again. He can see how Steve shivers, either from the cold of his saliva or from arousal, he’s not sure, and he can feel how the muscle twitches when he presses down on it.

His fingers are coated with his spit, and he absentmindedly wonders if he can feel that they’ve pruned up, but he still wonders whether or not Steve will be able to take even one finger to the first knuckle. The resistance pressing back against the pad of his middle finger isn’t giving and Bucky’s ready to refocus back on his blowjob instead, content with just that, except it does give. It one sudden, smooth slide, Bucky’s finger pushes past the muscle and Steve’s giving out loud, quick pants and groans.

It’s easy, Steve’s muscles only tensing too much for anymore to be comfortable when he’s all the way to the second knuckle. Bucky takes a moment, mouth and tongue stilling, as he fully concentrates on the way Steve’s walls are clamping and fluttering around him, how hot and soft he is inside. When he moves the digit slightly, a gentle stroking along his walls, Steve’s hips finally stop moving and Bucky can clearly hear the shudder that passes his lips.

He repeats the motion immediately, wanting to coax all the more reactions from Steve, and a part of him is loathe to admit that Steve might be right when he starts moving his mouth again and he gives the most obscene moan of Bucky’s name that he’s heard all night. Another - smaller - part of his mind is still telling him to stop, that he’ll hurt this scrawny guy if he doesn’t use lube or something actually meant for this, but Steve isn’t protesting one bit and, yeah, God, Steve was right.

It takes less time for the speed of it all to catch up than before. It’s messy, that’s for sure, Bucky too distracted with trying to concentrate on two separate things at the same time and there’s a steady trickle of spit running down his chin and wet, sloppy sounds from both his mouth and where he’s stretching Steve open as much as he can with only one finger.

There’s already that steady, salty taste leaking onto his tongue by the time he thinks to crook his fingers up on one stroke, a come hither motion as he rubs against the walls there. The answering moan, full body jolt, and sudden, small spurt of fluid across his tongue is more than what Bucky had wanted.

Working his mouth and hand as well as he can, he feels more than sees how Steve’s body is contorting, spine arching and curling with Bucky’s movement. Bringing his spare hand to lay over the flat of Steve’s stomach, he can feel the muscle straining underneath as he runs his fingers over the skin; down from just under where his ribs start, over the smooth skin there and his bellybutton, meeting the fine hair of his treasure trail, a slight detour away for the hip bones protruding so pretty like, until he’s met with the thick thatch of pubic hair and can tease at the base of Steve’s cock as he bobs his head. And then, his hand goes back up again to start again. Bucky should have guessed that multitasking between three different things like this would be difficult, but, damn, did Steve make it worth it.

Bucky can feel Steve tensing up the more he goes, hips giving minute, choppy rocks back and force, trying to get at both Bucky’s mouth and fingers at the same time. Steve’s hands, however, stay clutched at the sink edge and Bucky can see how his knuckles are turning white when he pauses a moment. He can only stop a moment, though, a moment before Steve cries out for him.

“Please, God, Bucky,” Steve sounds like he might start sobbing, and Bucky’s chest does a peculiar little squeeze. “Don’t stop, Buck, I’m so close, so fucking-” He strangles on the words when Bucky can’t seem to disobey them.

Bucky goes back to the same pace again, paying special attention to the glans and slit, lightly catching on the foreskin with his tongue at each push forward. The finger he has inside Steve alternates between slow massages to quick, almost vibrating motions against his prostate, while rubbing his index finger along the rim, teasing but never actually attempting to breech despite how desperately Steve pushes back on it. Regardless, Steve reacts like he’d just about done so, cursing up an imaginative storm.

One last travel downwards for his free hand, and Bucky wonders just how more creative those can get, when he passes his fingers over Steve’s pubic bone, trailing around where he’s sucking Steve’s dick, lightly glancing over his balls, tight and pulled up, until he reaches the space between them and his hole. With two fingers, he gives a deep massage to the skin there, _an external prostate massage,_ Bucky’s able to remind himself of its name, and a second later all the stimuli seem to process in Steve’s brain.

Steve almost jumps out of his own body, as if Bucky’s hands and his own hold on the sink behind were the only things keeping him anchored, moans suddenly higher pitched than all the ones prior, and then, Steve’s entire body tenses.

Bucky expects it, but the rush of bitter liquid into his mouth still catches him off guard. A second later as Steve lets out a languid moan, however, and he knows what he’s doing once again, lips and fingers slow and gentle as Steve goes from tense to small tremors and swallows until Steve has no more to give. Bucky pulls off after giving one more thorough lick across his slit, Steve’s overstimulated yelp bringing a smirk to his lips, and slowly extracts his finger, careful with how the muscles are shuddering around it.

There’s a distant thanks to past him when Bucky realises a bathroom has cleaning supplies at the ready, as he only needs to lean to his side for a hand towel. Wiping off both his chin and fingers, he throws it haphazardly to his side after. As if waiting for Bucky to finish wiping himself down, Steve only then lets his knees buckle under him. A quick hand from Bucky, and he’s guided into sitting comfortably on the tiled floor next to him.

Bucky can hear Steve’s pants fill up the room as he readjusts, pulling his calves from under him so he can sit more naturally, rubbing at his knees as he does. On cue, he feels Steve lean against him and he turns his face, welcoming the head of blond hair there and pressing a slow kiss into it.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Bucky says as he leans over into Steve, reaching again for the towel but not getting far. His arm can’t have even made it halfway before Steve wraps his own hand around it. When Bucky looks to Steve’s face, questioning, he only gets a second to see his quirked lips before Steve’s pulling him in with a hand on his neck.

The kiss is unhurried and relaxed despite being just as deep as the others. Steve’s leaning into his just as much as Bucky finds himself leaning into Steve as well, lips molding against each other, and the only quick movement he makes is to dislodge Steve’s hand from his arm, wanting to cup his jaw in his palm. When he does, Steve’s hand just travels to circle around his upper arm instead.

With one hand feeling over the cut of Steve’s jaw, Bucky’s able to guide the kiss a bit more, moving them for both comfort and an easier angle. Even now, it’s still a surprise when he feels Steve once again swipe his tongue against his lips. Except this time, he doesn’t hesitate.

He isn’t sure if Steve thought it through, doesn’t know if he realised that he might just be able to taste himself if he did this, but Steve can only be described as enthusiastic. He presses into Bucky’s mouth, licking into him, and Bucky honestly can’t complain when that’s Steve’s preference for a post-blow job kiss and what he swears to be the barest hint of saltiness still left behind. It’s enough to have him shifting in his place, all at once far too aware of how uncomfortably tight his jeans are and ready to reach down to solve that, when a blaring ring has them both jumping and teeth clacking together harshly.

Bucky pulls up roughly, glancing around with bleary eyes and confusion, hands tight on Steve. Steve, however, just huffs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a phone, tapping something, something that makes the ringing stop, and dives back into kissing Bucky, small pecks and chaste now. Bucky can’t find it in himself to argue against that.

Except, not a minute later, and the ringing starts up again. Steve lets out an almost, honest to God growl - Bucky can feel the vibrations of it against his own lips - and, breaking apart again, he can glimpse the name _‘Nat’_ lighting up the screen before Steve snatches it up and answers.

“What is it, Nat?” Steve’s panting somewhat, voice still husky, and all Bucky wants to do is lean back and watch. A few seconds of silence go by, only Steve’s breathing and the muffled sound of someone on the other end of the phone, until Steve lets out a small squawk at something she’d apparently said. “Yeah, I’m fine, I am,” he says, this time seeming to make an effort to control his breathing. “Okay, yeah, I’ll be there in five,” Steve nods to no one, and takes the phone from his ear. When he ends the call, Bucky can see several texts from the same Nat, catching the words _‘where r u’_ and _‘i s2g steven if you started another fight :)’_ before Steve locks the phone again.

Bucky wouldn’t have stopped the chuckle that breaks from him even if he’d tried.

Steve kicks him as well as he can sitting so closely and Bucky only half tries so restrain his laughing. He’s smiling back though, leaning back now he’s not having to concentrate on his phone and just watching comfortably passing time with Bucky’s chuckles for company.

“I uh,” he voices, clearing his throat, “I should go and meet my friend, she isn’t exactly someone who gives up easily.” Bucky laughs fade off and he nods, trying his best to return a smile. Neither move a moment despite that, and when Steve does, it’s not to get up, but to lean back into him.

Their lips touch once more, slow and light, and when Steve backs up, he does so with a breathy sigh.

“I still have that pen, you know?” This time, returning the smile isn’t a struggle. Bucky takes the pen from him quickly, and once Steve reaches out and bares his arm, sleeve rolled up, he scribbles out his number on the pale skin. He can’t help running his eyes over the tendons and fair hair and blue veins so stark against it.

Another moment, another shared grin, and Steve finally gets up, joints popping before he walks over to the door. Turning the handle and opening the door, he looks back at Bucky, gives a small, shy wave with that small, shy smile, and leaves only after Bucky does the same.

The door rests back into place, shut, and Bucky relaxes, back hitting the wall and head only just dodging the same fate. Giggling to himself a moment, he sighs out and looks down at his feet.

 _Ah,_ yeah.

Best to stay a few more minutes and take care of business before he leaves himself.

***

Wednesday, September 19th, 10:38am, is all his phone screen reads back to him. Or, more specifically, only that without any notifications of calls or texts from his hookup, one supposedly named Steve.

Bucky sighs, and half heartedly swears not to think on it too much today. He’d at least have a distraction for today, Clint near outright threatening to blow his phone up with texts if he doesn’t meet up with him after his Wednesday classes.

 _“10am classes?”_ Clint had whined, in such disbelief that Bucky would have found it funny if he’d not been dragged in to suffer with his friend, _“I didn’t even know 10am_ existed _.”_

Dragging himself up, Bucky knows it won’t take longer than ten minutes until he’s ready to leave. His jeans from last night are folded up on his swivel chair, not away in his wardrobe like they should be, but folded at the least. There’s plenty of clean shirts and at least one clean hoodie in his wardrobe, and his boots are thrown haphazardly by the side of his bedroom door. He’s not got that bit quite down yet, shoes always discarded in a pile wherever he takes them off, never by the front door like he _should_ be doing. Baby steps, he reminds himself.

The voice repeating it in his mind still isn’t quite his own, too feminine and too professional for that, still that bit too disconnected from himself.

In the end, if he’d timed it, Bucky was out the door in eight minutes, forty seven seconds.

The walk over towards the college, down to the small cafe just outside of Clint’s lecture hall, was roughly another ten minutes. Bucky’d chosen it specifically for the close proximity back when he’d first moved in two years ago, and even if he didn’t attend anymore, it had its perks. Perk number one being the possibility of still having a lie in even when Clint refused to suffer alone.

Summer’s a long distant memory by now, and as such, Bucky’s thankful for the large jackets and gloves he’d began stocking his wardrope up after he’d lost and regained an arm. Kept the chill at bay, gloves tucked into the fabric of his sleeves, even for his left one despite very little of memory meaning much to the metal and cybernetics. There was only the processing of numbers and pressure information running to his brain, no sensors to simulate actual sensation like cold and soft, not yet.

Regardless, he nestles every bit of himself further into the warmth of his clothing, and rounds the last corner, largest part of the college in sight. There, he sees perk number two. Two of Clint’s friends, Natalia (or was she his girlfriend? Really, he didn’t know and was too scared to simply ask at this point) and Sam.

Natalia was, overall, rather appealing to look, red hair a contrast to her paler skin but not glaringly so, soft looking but in a way that somehow had the back of Bucky’s mind screaming sharp. Her words were much the same, but Bucky had decided that she liked her anyway a good while back.

Now Sam, Sam was calm. Bucky had seen just enough - not much, not yet, but enough - interactions between him and Clint to know this didn’t translate to no-nonsense. Sam could trade snark and wisecracks just as well, did trade them and often. He just seemed calm, ready for whatever may happen. Bucky didn’t dislike that, not really, but he did find himself curious at times.

Most importantly though, they were two people he could try to befriend. Or, at least, form some sort of friendly acquaintance with. He’d been told that would help, would be healthy for him.

The two are chatting amongst themselves, walking slowly, not seeming intent of going anywhere but not wanting to give up the motions regardless. When Bucky glances down at his phone, it’s three minutes to and none of the rambling, split up texts Clint usually sends out when forced to wait. So, he has some time to kill at least. By the time Bucky reaches them, however, they haven’t even seemed to notice him, instead exchanging quick words with each other, few pauses in between.

“-not been replying to me either,” Natalia says that pointedly, continues, “but he can take care of himself.” Bucky just waits there, not caring too much to interrupt.

“Look, okay, I’m not saying babysit the guy.” Sam sounds tired, sighing a bit, strong arms crossed over his chest. “We could at least check on him, though. Remember the last time Steve pulled something like this?” The name perks Bucky’s ears slightly, just from association, and he feels idiotic a second later for it, a common name getting such a reaction from him, but Natalia finally turns her head to him and waves and oh…

Oh, fuck, _Nat._

He doesn’t quite know what his face must be doing at that moment, but Natalia gives him a peculiar look and stills, watching him like she’s expecting something until-

“What’s wrong with Steve?”

Bucky would have loved to savour the surprised look on Natalia’s face if it weren’t for his own shock. She quickly recovers though, quicker than Bucky anyway.

“I didn’t know you knew Steve,” she looks over Bucky, taking in the details of him as if that’d give something away even without him saying anything more. He’d tried to lie to her once, tried being the key word. That was a long time ago.

“I, uh,” Bucky isn’t sure what to say, knows she probably knows, but isn’t sure if Sam does. He really doesn’t like how Sam’s also staring at him just as intently. “I met him last week.” He hopes it’s enough of an omission to get him out of this, but Natalia’s eyes sharpen.

“Friday.” In that moment, she was back to neutral again. As difficult as it was for Bucky to get a ready on her at all, he knew it wasn’t a question. It never quite was whenever they had talked, scarce as it was.

Sam’s looking between them, confused until he isn’t. Then, he’s angry.

“I swear, if you did anything to Steve,” Sam doesn’t shout, doesn’t need to. He’s a big guy, not quite as big as Bucky himself, but with trained muscle and holds his body in refined and precise power. He steps forward, not forcing his way into Bucky’s space, but enough that Bucky can’t escape looking at him without moving instead. That isn’t enough to quell the spike of anger that rushes Bucky’s stomach though, not at that accusation, not at the idea that he would do _anything_ like that.

“I would never,” Bucky snaps at him, “Everything that we did, he was okay with-”

“Oh, yeah, because Steve totally wanted his first fucking time in a bathroom of all places,” Sam snaps right back, tone dry and half rolling his eyes. Bucky freezes a moment, before scrunches up his face.

“Wait, you mean…” His mouth suddenly feels too dry and no matter how large he physically is compared to these two, he doesn’t actually feel like it. “You mean, his first time hooking up, right? Or…”

Sam stares at him like he’s grown a second head, mouth snapping shut quickly. Even Natalia is giving him her own look, head tilting forward the slightest bit it’d usually go unnoticed. And Bucky thinks that enough of an answers.

“Oh, _fuck,"_ he breathes, and Sam’s letting out a disgruntled noise himself before finally looking anywhere other than Bucky, eyes widening a moment before going back to normal. He could see flickers of Natalia looking over at Sam herself, but at this point, he just needed a second to think.

He’d gone to his first decent party since he began to recover, had a panic attack, met a genuinely nice guy, and then proceeded to give said nice guy his first ever blowjob. A messy, out of practice blowjob in some person’s bathroom they didn’t even really know and had no idea how clean they kept it, and in the middle of that, had a second panic attack. That, was the introduction to sex Bucky had given Steve. Okay. _Excellent._

“What’s happened to Steve?” Bucky repeats, quiet, but it stops Natalia and Sam in their seemingly silent communications, looking right at him again. Natalia gives him another look over, and then purses her lips slightly, as if he’d answered some kind of question that had never been asked.

“He hasn’t been replying to our messages since Sunday,” Natalia says. Sam sputters slightly, head jerking back to stare at her.

“You can’t-! We don’t even know him, Natasha,” he scolds her, like the glare she sends his way doesn’t even bother him. Bucky certainly wouldn’t want it to be pointed at him. Then again, he was about to intrude in a way that may just invoke it anyway.

“I can go check on him,” Bucky blurts it out before he can rethink it. “If you think that would help, anyway,” he adds, after. Another silent conversation between Natalia and Sam, little facial gestures and tilts that must mean something to the other, and Sam sighs.

“Okay, fine.”

“We both have classes soon, but let us know how he is right away,” Natalia smiles, pen suddenly in her hand and pulling out a page of paper from her bag. A few, quick scribbles across it, and she’s whisking it into Bucky’s own hands. Her grin widens a dash, before she says, “and don’t worry about Clint, I’ll tell him you’re busy.” With that, she begins walking away before Bucky can even read what’s on the paper.

Bucky’s left with Sam, focus taken away from the paper when the man lets out a noisy exhale.

“Look, man,” Sam’s voice is softer now, looking after where Natalia’s walking away, but not leaving himself, “the guy’s not doing so great. Depression, yeah?” Bucky nods, sharp but small, and Sam continues, “Just be good to him, okay?”

Bucky nods again, this time following it up with a small, _‘yeah’._ Sam lets himself smile for a split second, teeth white and dazzling, before he starts to move away and jog after Natalia. Bucky’s about to look down and finally read what’s on the paper, when there’s another shout from Sam, still running to catch up.

“We’ll make you sorry if you aren’t!” Sam’s glancing back at him, and Natalia’s gives him a small wave without looking back. Back down, at the sheet of papers, and there’s two numbers - one next to a _‘Nat’_ , and other _‘Sam’ -_ and one address.

It doesn’t take him long to type the postal code into his phone’s map, ignoring the several unread texts from Clint, already four two minutes past.

***

Twenty minutes of staring at his phone and no more impatient texts later, and Bucky’s staring up at a large, actually somewhat expensive front door. In fact, the area overall is pretty, well, _decent._ The houses aren’t cramped together, but not exactly what he’d call spacious either. There’s no front garden, no space for it, but the sidewalks and the buildings are, altogether, looked after, showing some wear but obviously looked after. Bucky had even seem a nice park on the way. So, pretty damn decent, for a student.

There curtains, however, are drawn, with no light showing out of them. Bucky stands there a moment, checking and rechecking that he has the right house. Sure enough, his phone’s map and the little 37 attached to the door answers that, yes, he does. With that, and one more glance back at the address written down on paper, he steps forward, gloved hand raised to knock.

The sound of his knuckles rapping against the the door feels like it should reverberate in his stomach, it’s so low. He wonders for a moment if it’s made out of wood, actual wood, like mahogany or oak or something, and he has a few moments more to ponder the question when the house stays quiet. It’s only when he goes to knock again, one final try, that he can hear shuffling on the other side.

The mahogany or oak or whatever kind of wooden door shifts, pulling back slow and heavy, a gap large enough for a small figure to peer out from. Bucky’s not sure he would have recognised Steve standing there in the dark of the hallway if it weren’t for the big blues of his eyes.

“Hi,” Bucky says, dumbly, his flesh hand half raising for a small, almost timid wave. It’s only then that he realises how unsteady his hands feel, retracting it quickly before it becomes too apparent. Steve doesn’t reply, not with words anyway, only opens the door up a smidge more, letting Bucky see more of him as he looks over the man at his doorstep, seemingly focused on taking in the fact that Bucky’s actually there.

There’s dark rings under Steve’s eyes, and his face looks paler than Bucky remembers it being at the party, and his hair’s a mess, sticking this way and that, looking like it’s been a few days since it’d last seen a shower. The rest of him is bundled up in a blanket, and Bucky’s at least glad that that about his appearance looks okay, the fabric a warm red, and seemingly just as soft as the colour implies. Bucky wants to ask what’s wrong, what happened, if there’s something he can do, but he can’t.

“I didn’t know Nat was Natalia,” is what he chooses to say instead. Steve doesn’t look confused at that, gives a small nod if anything, but Bucky adds to it anyway, “The, uh, friend at the party. I know her- well, I kind of know her through a friend. She’s a friend of a friend.” Bucky clears his throat, anything to stop his rambling explanation, and says, “She was worried about you, and I was free to check while she was busy.”

“Yeah, she has class at this time.” It’s the first sentence he’s heard Steve say since he got here and the bit of roughness in his voice has Bucky’s heart doing something funny. When Steve doesn’t say anything more though, just looks at him from his swaddle of blankets, Bucky gives one more look over him, making sure there’s no signs of injuries or illness in the way he’s holding himself, and resolves that it’s not likely, and Steve seems fine.

“I’ll be going, sorry,” Bucky says, turning already, and adds like it’s an afterthought, “I’ll tell Natalia you’re fine.” Walking away only causes that peculiar feeling in his chest to deepen slightly, but he avoids the impulse to look back at Steve, just one more time, just once more, already feeling like an imposition for the scant five minutes he must have been there.

He stops, however, before he’s even made it five steps and Steve’s voice hits him again.

“I meant to call you.”

Bucky turns around, slowly at first and just enough to be able to see Steve, and he’s staring at his hands, picking at the solid wood there as if he could actually find any bits splintering off, before looking back up at Bucky.

“I really did, but later turned into tomorrow, turned into Sunday, turned into…” Steve sighs and looks down again. Bucky’s turned fully now, peering after him.

“You don’t gotta say that if you don’t mean it, Steve.” Steve’s head snaps up at that, and Bucky’s actually happy when he can see that same spark in them from the other night, even if he looks somewhat pissed.

“I ain’t lying so don’t you accuse me of it!” His accents suddenly thicker, all Brooklyn and piss and vinegar. Bucky can’t help but smile a bit at that, and Steve softens after his outburst. “You can, um, if you’d like to come in,” Steve says, opening the a bit, moving out the way to give space for Bucky in the unlit hallway.

When Bucky does move to get up the steps to it though, Steve seems to rethink a moment, looking at him warily and thinking, but doesn’t close the door or rescind his offer, only quickly says:

“Just, excuse the mess, yeah?”

Bucky laughs at that, walking in and past Steve, nudging him a bit when Steve moves to the light switch.

“Hey, I’ve been to college myself, you know,” he teases, “I know what it’s like.”

 _‘Dropped out real quick too,’_ a voice in the back of Bucky’s mind finds important to remind him, quickly followed by another voice, a quick, _‘not now.’_

The ceiling lights flicker on quickly, most of the harshness of it hidden behind their fabric coverings, and Bucky’s greeted with a small but tidy hall. There’s a bicycle leaning on one side of the wall not too far off, no muddy tire tracks on the wooden panels to be seen, and a few shoes shucked off next to the door.

Steve only glances behind himself at Bucky once before walking off up the staircase to their right, and Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice. He follows him up, tempted to take the stairs two at a time if Steve hadn’t been blocking the narrow staircase. As is, he settles for the pace Steve sets out, until he’s hovering over a door right off the stairs.

“I… I meant it, you know? Don’t be surprised,” Steve mutters, but doesn’t give Bucky any time to ask what he means before he’s opening the door. He doesn’t need any time to adjust his eyes, the room’s just light enough from a bedroom lamp that he can make out most of it and, yeah, okay, he can see what Steve’s talking about.

Bucky can’t see much of the floor, although what he can see, he thinks it might be a greyish carpet. Mostly, however, it’s a mix of clothes, papers strewn about, and several empty (well, presumably empty) takeout boxes. Bucky’s pretty sure Steve wouldn’t have been able to eat that much in one night. The desk is just as messy, a few plates piled by a laptop, and not only paper but also brushes and paints scattered along the surface along with a few scrunched up wrappers. The bed’s tidier than the rest, at least. It’s not made, but it is clear of the rest of the chaos in its bundle of duvet and pillows.

The first thing that comes to Bucky’s mind, however, is that he’s still wearing his boots. Steve gives him a look, seemingly confused, when Bucky bends down to undo his laces.

“Should have taken these off at the door, sorry,” he smiles up at Steve, but finds it falling slightly when Steve doesn’t smile back, just looks away and then to his room, quickly turning his gaze again and, this time, to his feet. One shoes off, and starting on the other, Bucky calls Steve’s name again, getting his attention back.

“It’s okay, really,” Bucky says, quiet and low, “You saw me at that party, I’ve been here plenty of times. It’s fine.” Steve smiles back this time as Bucky places his shoes by the door, out the way. It looks sincere, at least, Bucky guesses it is. He hopes it is. With that, Steve walks over the threshold to his room and Bucky follows, closing the door behind them.

“It is usually better than this, I swear. Just got out of hand the last few days, I’ve been meaning to get to it,” Steve mutters, quick and nearly quiet enough that Bucky wonders if Steve means for it to be to him. Bucky doesn’t much mind either way however, and takes the chance when he sees it.

“I could help if you wanted?” he offers, looking over at Steve hoping to convey half as much as Steve’s own eyes seem to be capable of. Steve sputters, cheeks lighting up an actually healthy looking pink. He looks like he’s about to argue, or maybe just say something snarky, maybe a mix of both, but Bucky beats him to it. “Hey, if it gives me an excuse to spend some time with you, then I’m up for just about anything,” he winks over at him, and Steve just meets him with a playful shove, barely enough to sway him. A second later, and Steve’s finally shedding the blanket, tossing it over to the bed, then picking up a mostly empty bin bag from the corner of the room.

He doesn’t hand it over to Bucky or start picking through things yet, though. He plops the bag down, this time in a space in the middle of the room, and takes careful steps towards his desk. A moment or two of rummaging, which Bucky takes to once again follow Steve over, and he pulls out a phone and a small set of portable speakers. Bucky wants to make a joke about them being Steve size, but stops himself for once.

Steve meets his eyes with a smirk and challenging look, and says, “So, original soundtracks, right?”

He’s met with a bubbling laugh and Bucky agrees that, yes, that’d be _perfect._

It doesn’t take long to clean up, the floor is mostly clear soon enough, seemingly taking a lot less time than it looked like it would. Bucky remembers it being like that the last time he had to do something like this.

Steve fits most of the clothes in a ‘dirty’ pile, although he does put a few away in the wardrobe. While he’s doing that, Bucky focuses on throwing out the takeout boxes, mostly lying around the bed and quickly done away with. To pass the time while Steve finishes his task, he gets together the dirty pots, puts them in a small pile to be taken downstairs and cleaned in a bit. After that, it’s the desk to be focused on, Bucky once again gathering all the empty wrappers and the one takeout box on there as well as Steve gets to work putting away his art supplies. Bucky wonders if he has a specific kind of organisation for them as it takes him longer than he expects.

He doesn’t say anything about it though, just listens to the music and wipes off any dust he finds on the desk or nearby shelves. He also makes a note of not mentioning the picture frame he finds there, lying face down. When he sneaks a peak while Steve seems intent on fixing the frayed ends of a small brush, he finds it of a blonde, older woman in a formal, but comfortable looking dress.

After Steve’s done sorting through it all, he looks over at Bucky and smiles big and wide and yeah, Bucky’s definitely not bringing up that picture right now.

Bucky takes to getting the pile of dishes together again to take them down finally and start on those, and as he turns around with them in hand, Steve’s standing at the doorway. He’s looking over the room, lips pursed as he scans the space. It’s then that he catches Bucky’s eyes and grins at him again, small but just as clear.

“Thanks,” Steve says, light and airy. Bucky looks at the room once more as he walks over to Steve, stopping just in front of him.

“It’s no problem,” he murmurs it, more on instinct than anything else, and Steve’s looking up at him with those big, blue eyes. They still have those rings under them, but they’re bright again, even through the dark of his lashes, and all that walking around while tidying up must have done some good, because now his cheeks are back to a healthy looking pink. His hair’s still due a bath, sticking up at random places, and Bucky wants to smooth it down with his hand, grease be damned, and then he’s leaning down into Steve and only really thinking about how to balance the plates and cutlery in his hands as he does so.

It’s with a quick jolt that he pulls away, the sound of metal scratching against ceramic invading his ears as he does so. Steve jumps back at the noise, back almost hitting the doorway and looking back with wide eyes.

Bucky watches a moment, frozen, as Steve’s mouth works around something silent before snapping shut again, crumpling his face a bit, and Bucky takes that second to walk passed him and out the room, steps quick and heavy. He thinks about looking back but doesn’t, thinks it best not to, and hurries down the stairs and quickly finds the kitchen, easily spied from the front hallway.

On closer inspection, the plates aren’t that dirty, and most of the dirt on it is cleared off once the water from the tap heats up enough. Some soap and a sponge, and the rest comes without much force. The forks and the few knives there as well are much of the same. Bucky spends more time than he’d like to admit focusing on cleaning one bit off, realising after way too much effort that it’s actually a stain, but decides to give it a few more scrubs just in case when he hears footsteps behind him.

He swears it might actually not be a stain when he thinks he may have scratched a bit off to reveal silver underneath, but he can’t be sure. He’d need to work on it more, put a bit more elbow grease behind it to know for definite, and Bucky’s about to grab for the bottle of soap again until there’s arms loosely wrapping around his middle and a small body leaning against him. Bucky almost drops the knife in his hand, almost but doesn’t.

“Thank you,” Steve’s voice behind him is soft, and he can feel him resting his forehead against his back. Bucky lays down the fork into the sink, among the suds and the one other plate he hasn’t gotten to yet, and relaxes back into the touch.

The arms around his middle tighten a bit, into a solid hug now. Bucky gives a long sigh, feels his shoulders fall with it, and brings his own hands down to Steve’s. He realises belatedly that they’re still wet from the washing up, but he’s already cupping them over Steve’s hands and Steve’s entwining their fingers far too quickly for Bucky to think he minds.

A quick squeeze of his hands, and he pulls from the grasp but only enough for him to step around in place. Steve’s there, looking up at him again, and now he takes his own step forward, filling the small space Bucky had made to move himself. One of his hands finds Bucky’s again, big for his small stature but still not as big as Bucky’s own hand. And if Steve ever brings up how quickly Bucky’s spare hand races up to cup Steve’s cheek, leaving water streaked along his cheek with his thumb, then there’ll be a small punch to the arm waiting for him.

This time, when Bucky leans down, he doesn’t jump away. Instead, Steve pulls him down the rest of the way, lips meeting and moving almost lazily for what Bucky hopes to be the longest seconds of his life. Finally pulling away, the smiles they share are so contagious the next kiss Bucky dives down for is almost more laughing than actual kissing.

***

Bucky is going to properly meet Steve’s friends. A few days after their kiss in his apartment, and Steve wants him to come along to his friends’ apparently weekly movie night. Steve says he offered to host it round his, so Thursday, 8pm, is the date down and the time Bucky shows up at Steve’s place.

At least, he shows up fifteen minutes early - well, 7:43pm - with jittery nerves. They settle a bit after Steve opens the door, looking healthier than Wednesday and this time, with thick rimmed glasses lying on his nose. Bucky has a moment of staring at him, motioning up and to his own eyes. It takes a second, a second where Bucky feels like an idiot for not just using his words, but Steve laughs and says:

“Nat practically forced me to wear contacts to the party.” Steve shrugs, clear as that, and soon enough he’s telling Bucky to come in and sit down. He quickly finds that no one apart from Steve’s housemate is there yet.

Tony’s… Tony’s okay. Weird, but okay. He apparently studies at the same college, something to do with science, anything beyond that and Bucky isn’t sure, Tony letting off several words he’s heard before but no actual idea what they mean. He just nods, and that seems to appease him. It’s clear that the two, Tony and Steve, get along in a way. There’s some bickering back and for, but it doesn’t seem to truly annoy either of them. Easy to see why they’d be housemates, Bucky guesses.

When Steve insists Bucky gets comfortable, and when he argues that doesn’t mean just sitting down on the cough like it’s made out of rock and actually take off his jacket and have something to drink. It’s a peculiar feeling, his left arm feeling so vulnerable despite it being made from metal stronger than flesh and bone. He lets Steve take his jacket anyway, especially when Steve asks him to save the seat next to him for Steve himself. He can’t unbutton his jacket fast enough then.

Tony does let out a little noise in his throat, and Bucky looks over to see him eyeing his left arm like Christmas just came early. He’s worried for a second, the unfeeling metal somehow itching for his jacket again, but Steve just shouts over at Tony. Maybe in a different day, sometime in the future perhaps, he’d have laughed at how Steve sounded like a parent scolding a child, and how Tony looked just the part when he pretended to hide a pout.

There’s no other hiccups really, not unless you count finding out Steve only has soy milk to mix with their chocolates (Steve laughs when Bucky asks if Tony has any, and Bucky might not get the joke but he likes the sound). Bucky doesn’t count it.

It’s not long after that the rest arrive. There’s Natalia at first, dragging along Clint to make sure ‘he arrived on time’. Bucky knows Clint well enough he knows Natalia’s efforts are for a reason. After that is a man named Bruce, apparently a friend of Tony’s. Bruce is friendly, but not overly so, and seems to keep to himself. Bucky decides that he likes Bruce so far. Then Sam arrives, giving Steve a quick, one armed hug before settling down in his own seat.

When Steve still doesn’t take his own seat after, Bucky looks over to him, fingers twitching around the fabric of his jean pockets. Steve gives him a small smile back, raises a finger and mouths what looks to be, _“one more.”_ He doesn’t know if Steve can tell he understands, but it puts him at ease regardless.

Soon enough, there’s another knock on the door, and Steve introduces Thor. Thor’s a tall, wall of a man, as tall as Bucky himself and more than likely as bulky. He’s cheery, but throws his weight around far more easily than Bucky ever could. Steve seems to not mind though, seems to actually like him just as much as the others, so he tries not to mind much himself.

As Steve settles into the space left empty just for him by Bucky’s side, pressing up against him despite there being plenty of space for him, Bucky doesn’t think it’ll be much a problem anyway.

The first movie, Bucky mostly does follow. It’s a cliche of a flick, but it seems to know it, poking fun at itself and including more than enough bloody gore to keep everyone interested. There’s a few jokes, most likely not the first time it’s been joked about looking at everyone’s reactions, about one of the actors looking like Thor. Bucky can see it, but he doesn’t join in. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable anymore though, especially not with how Steve’s burrowing into his side, as if the metal of his arm is the comfiest pillow in the world.

The next movie is put on quickly after that, and nearly everyone reacts with whoops and yells of approval when the title is declared, something or other about a road. He’s slightly surprised when it’s a splash of colourful animation that springs up on the screen, but he doesn’t dwell on it. The entire thing is fun though, Bucky has to admit. He especially likes the part where Bruce speaks up, saying that the two male protagonists were initially supposed to be lovers, and Steve’s, _‘really?’_ and smile shine.

There’s a few yawns by the time the third movie starts, but the cheer hasn’t even begun to fade. Bucky isn’t sure why exactly when he reads ‘documentary’ on the screen, but soon enough there’s talk about some kind of secret society and vampires and Bucky’s not quite sure what to think other than that he’s in for a ride. Steve actually ends up pressed more fully against him during this one, wrapping himself up under Bucky’s arm and Bucky only pulling him closer when he does. The length of Steve’s leg is squeezed up against his own, distracting somewhat from the television screen. Overall though, it is an interesting movie. Interesting and funny.

It’s then that a few get up, saying that they have class tomorrow or the buses stop soon or a mix of the both. Regardless, the fourth (last, Bucky guesses) movie starts and only him, Steve, Sam, and Tony are left to watch. There’s something about a farm, a boy, and a girl, he thinks. He can’t say he’s too sure, not with his own eyelids feeling heavy and focusing more and more on the feeling of Steve drooping into his side. Tony leaves soon enough, stumbling away and leaving a few too many empty cans behind. Beside them, he can hear soft snores, presumably Sam fallen asleep on the couch he’s now commendered for himself, lying straight across it. And then Steve slowly moves against him, hitching his legs up to lay them across Bucky’s lap and properly pillow his head against Bucky’s chest.

Using his metal arm to cradle Steve there, keeping him comfortable set against feels peculiar. Too soft but also not soft enough and Bucky’ll be damned if he stops. He wonders if Steve can feel his heart jump slightly in his chest, pulling him closer, almost in his lap.

There’s a sword fight on the screen by the time Steve begins to nod off. Bucky doesn’t even need to look down to know it, can feel the dropping and then sudden jerking of his head, how his breathing settles slightly before changing again.

“Call it a night, hey?” Bucky hums, his own voice rough with sleep.

Bucky can feel Steve nodding against his chest, but he doesn’t move, only goes back to resting there, face almost nuzzling against his shirt. He’s tempted to leave it, let Steve doze off on him, enjoy the lull of Steve’s gentle breathing. Except Steve’s shuffling every now and again, finding a new position only to try to find a different one again soon after. So, a bed, much more comfortable than lying on someone on a couch.

He tries to move Steve up and off him, as gently as he can - not as gently as he’d hoped, Bucky would say - actually forcing Steve to get up and stay awake this time. Steve looks over to him, blinking his eyes once, twice, until he stifles and yawn.

“Come on, you should get to bed.” Bucky stands up, his right hand finding one of Steve’s, guiding him up as well. When Steve looks stable enough on his own, Bucky lets go, and throws the trash of the few things he’d eaten away. Steve’s following him, then padding into the kitchen to presumably put the glasses him and Bucky had used in the sink. At least, Bucky assumes.

He can hear the soft running of water as he looks over the room, everything mostly cleaned up and Sam quietly snoring on one of the couches. He’s only in a t-shirt and jeans, and the guy’s not shivering or curling into himself, but Bucky can’t be sure really. Waiting for Steve to get back, he grabs a spare blanket discarded on the floor as the water shuts off, and drapes it over Sam, from feet to shoulders.

Bucky can hear the soft steps of socks on carpet when Steve walks back into the lounge, and turns around slightly to greet Steve back with a sideways smile. He’s standing there, rubbing his eyes with one hand and eyelids looking just about as heavy as they must be.

“Bed, then?” Bucky nods at the question, and Steve shuffles past him and to the stairs in the hallway. When Bucky grabs his own blanket and pillow though, Steve just looks back over to him expectantly. The look quickly shies away into something more timid the moment Bucky looks over at him however.

“What you waiting for?” Bucky asks, patting down the pillow until it’s back to a plump shape. Steve only stares at him a moment, waiting for something but Bucky doesn’t know what.

“You don’t gotta sleep on the couch,” he blurts it out, quick but hushed and Bucky’s eyes widen.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes the words out, throwing the pillow and blanket to the side, not watching for where it lands, “Yeah, okay.” He’s walking towards Steve before he even finishes the thought.

Following Steve up the stairs, the heaviness in his own legs starts to make itself known, and it’s enough to put him off from trying to tangle himself around Steve on the steps. He really doesn’t want the night to end in one of them tripping down a flight of stairs in an awkward stumble. Off the stairs, though, and towards Steve’s room, and Bucky mentally labels that an acceptable moment. They’re barely through the door by the time Bucky has his arms curled around Steve, resting his head against that blond head of hair.

He’s warm against him, warm and soft and malleable, a slight vanilla scent passing by Bucky’s nose. Steve leans back into him bodily, leaning back and resting his weight into the bulk of Bucky’s own body, staying like that a few, long moments. When he does pull away, Bucky bites back a whine, although he guesses all can be forgiven when he sees Steve tugging at the end of his shirt.

When the first strip of pale skin is uncovered as Steve pulls the shirt up and off of him, Bucky has to tear his eyes away from the sight to do the same. Steve’s as skinny as he imagined he was, bony and hands seemingly meant for a body larger than his. He stands there awkwardly, eyes glazing over Bucky’s own uncovered chest, only startling when Bucky clears his throat. He feels kind of guilty about that when Steve tears his eyes away. He can’t think too long on it though, not while he works on the connections for his prosthetic arm, unlatching the metal and pulling the arm away from his body. It still surprises him how off balance he feels when he takes it off, but the doctor had said that was perfectly normal.

After placing his arm down on the mostly clear desk and turning around, Steve’s glasses are put away somewhere and his hands are playing with the hem of his jeans. Not making any effort to undo them, however, simply laying uneasily against it.

“We can, um,” Steve falls silent a moment, before finding his words again. “If it’s okay with you, we can take our jeans off to sleep.”

Steve doesn’t need to ask twice.

The bed’s just as comfortable as the one Bucky has at home, he knows it, but it still feels better when Steve shuffles under the covers with him. It’s hesitant at first, awkward presses of hands and skin that need a moment to warm up, especially with Steve’s permanently cold fingers.

Their legs find each other before anything else, tangling slightly under the sheets, simply feeling the other’s solid presence beside them. Soon enough, Bucky’s trailer a hand over Steve’s shoulder, over the smooth skin and his protruding collarbone, until he’s met again with the cut of his jaw. He cradles Steve’s face there, happy to just hold him and look over his face a moment more. When Steve leans over for a kiss, however, he most certainly doesn’t disapprove.

It’s chaste, a light press of lips, for all of two seconds before Steve’s own hands find Bucky in turn and pulls him in. Steve isn’t even doing anything rather racy, only pawing at the space where neck follows onto his shoulders and letting his nails run over it just enough to tease the idea of a gentle pain. Even then, Bucky’s letting out small sighs, opening his mouth and making the kiss wetter.

As the kiss grows closer, so do their bodies, and it isn’t long before Steve’s pressed up against Bucky, chest against chest and still pulling at each other to get that bit nearer. Steve’s doing that thing again with Bucky’s tongue, sucking it into his own mouth like some kind of sweet, except this time it’s less rushed and more leisurely. He spends more time running his own tongue against Bucky’s and feeling out how he feels against him instead.

When they split apart, it’s only for a moment, a moment before they’re leaning back in after a breath and with a grace Bucky doesn’t think he’s seen Steve exhibit before, rolls on top of him to continue. The body on top of Bucky’s drags across his as Steve gets comfortable, and Bucky stifles a moan into the kiss when one of Steve’s legs rubs across his growing erection.

A small rhythm starts up of Steve rocking his body slightly against Bucky’s hips, and Bucky giving gentle rolls up to meet them in turn. It’s slow and comfortable and Bucky finds himself leaning back his head as he relaxes into it, pecks and kisses being pressed into the skin of his neck as he does so. It isn’t until a sudden rough press against his cock jerks him out of his head and back to full consciousness that he realises he has falling asleep.

“What happened to going sleep?” Bucky drawls out, but doesn’t stop the rocking of his hips. If he does it at just the right angle, he can feel Steve’s own cock press against his stomach through his briefs, hard and heavy. There’s a laugh in his ear, and he smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Steve almost sings the words, a playful kind of sarcasm to them, before he hums and falls back to the side of Bucky. Steve’s cheeks are pink and his eyes so close to shutting that Bucky can barely make out the colours of them unless he gets close enough. Wrapping Steve up in his arms, he pulls in for another, lazy kiss, and doesn’t let go even after their lips breath apart to breathe properly. Steve’s own hands wind over Bucky as well, holding him in the mirror reflection as to how Bucky is holding him. He isn’t sure how many more kisses they share before they fall asleep, tangled together in Steve’s bed, nor does he have the faintest of the time and how late it got, but the moonlight and the lamps filtering in through the curtains is soft and the noise on the street is distant and Steve is so, very close.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on my [tumblr](http://awinterborn.tumblr.com/) as well.  
> More importantly though, you can also find and reblog the beautiful art piece [here](http://frau-argh.tumblr.com/post/172353386534/by-the-time-hes-making-high-keening-noises/)!


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